


Infinite Touches

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [23]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Phrack, F/M, Phrack Fucking Friday, Prompt Fic, e e cummings, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-20 18:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16143206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Phryne has been traveling for three months, and she's on her way home when she's grounded by a storm.





	Infinite Touches

**Author's Note:**

> So this one time, I was browsing Tumblr, as one does, and I saw a post of a poem by e e cummings. I wish now that I'd made note of the link or the original poster, because that poem wouldn't leave me alone! So thank you, OP, whoever you were - I hope if you ever see this, you'll appreciate it.

Rain lashed the windows of the hotel as Phryne burrowed down under the covers of the big, soft bed. Her tea tray sat across her lap, her supper half-eaten, as she stared gloomily out into the storm. She’d meant to be at home by now, in her boudoir, her handsome—and preferably naked—detective inspector stretched out at her side. But this blasted rain had begun in the wee hours of the morning, and there was no way that she could fly in it. Chances were, it’d be done by morning, but that didn’t help alleviate her brood now.

Sighing, she rose, covering her plate with its silver dome and moving the tea tray to the small bench that sat under the window. At least she’d managed to get a telegram sent this morning to let her household know about the delay. She’d been gone for three months—surely one more day wouldn’t be that difficult to bear? Her mouth twisted in derision; one more night would be the hard part.

It had been easier to stay away before she’d taken Jack to her bed, she admitted to herself. The thought of his long, lean body and his dedication to bringing her pleasure was a torment while she was apart from him. She’d considered assignations with other men, just to take the edge off—something they’d discussed at length before she left—but none of the men she’d met, however fascinating to talk to, had tempted her into lustful compromise. She’d been making do with her own fingers and the single toy she’d had room to carry for what felt like forever.

She’d been so looking forward to ravishing him tonight—a short flight to Melbourne, time to take a long, luxurious bath in her own tub, then dinner with Jack and a very warm welcome in her own bed. Pausing in the middle of the room, she envisioned it—he would come to her front door and be shown into the parlor, where she would stand to meet him. Mr. Butler would close the parlor doors and Jack would take the opportunity to greet her in that way he had, his arms wrapping around her, his chest strong against the softness of her breasts, his sex rising to press against her belly, and his kiss… _His kiss_. Jack Robinson could kiss like nobody’s business. 

He’d start slow, his mouth closed, his lips sipping and pressing at hers, and then he’d use his tongue to request permission to enter, a small swipe at the seam of her lips or a touch at the corner of her mouth. When she opened, he wouldn’t force his whole tongue in, no, he _seduced_ her with his mouth—slow penetration, tongues gliding together, his flavor filling her mouth like the finest wine.

His hands might wander as they kissed, stroking her back, her bottom, even her breast, but he would make her wait for more than that—building the tension so that when he took her to bed, her body was screaming for his. During dinner, he would touch her casually as they ate, his fingers stroking her hand, his long legs stretching out to rest against hers under the table. He’d pretend to be scandalized when she slipped her foot out of its shoe and rested it in his lap, her toes carefully pressing against the ridge of his cock, but then he’d place a hand over the top of her foot and pull her closer, his eyes on hers and his nostrils flaring.

Shivering as her body reacted to the thought of seducing her dour inspector, Phryne slid a hand down one hip, the dark blue satin of the pair of pajamas she’d lifted from Jack’s drawer soft against her skin. Bending, she laid first one, then another log on the fire, hoping that it’d warm the room—for as fancy as this hotel was, you’d think they’d have radiators—and ducked back into bed. Her hand slipped under the pillow to pull out the letter that she’d received from Jack in Jaipur; snuggling down, she opened it for what must be the thousandth time and began to read.

> _Darling Phryne,_

> _I have no words for how much I am missing you. I hope that the months you’ve been away have been pleasurable for you, that your adventures are filling you with purpose and refreshing your mind. I find that Melbourne, once an exciting city, has become pastel-pale with you away. Did you know that you brought so much color into the world? Into my world, anyway. With you gone, it seems my days are nothing but gray, the only touches of pigment swirling around Jane, Doctor MacMillan, and the rest of your found family, but none of them is more than the palest imitation of the vibrancy of you._

> _I do not tell you this to burden you with guilt or any other negative emotion, only to assure you that you are missed, and by more than only me. I don’t know how the others are spending their time, though I sometimes amuse myself by guessing. Dot is busily knitting whatever it is that one knits in anticipation of a babe’s arrival, and Hugh seems to float through his days with an air of stupefied wonder at his good fortune. Jane has discovered Virginia Woolf and between it and your special bookshelf (for who is there to steer her from it?) is happily vacillating between curiosity about and disdain for the male of the species._

> _I know that Mr. Butler has been trying new recipes—he invites me and the others over at least once a week to try some new masterpiece. I think you’ll be pleased with his results. Mac is seeing someone—I’m guessing of course, as she is very close-mouthed about it. Has she mentioned anyone to you?_

Phryne shuffled the pages, turning away from the welcome news of her family and toward the portion of the letter that called to her—it had turned her wandering feet toward home, made her miss Jack more than ever and yet brought him closer to her than he’d been since she left.

> _As for me, I have consoled myself with literature, hoping to ease my way through the hours in which I am not working. I’ve been unable to settle into an adventure story or even Shakespeare—you see at what loose ends you have left me? But I recently rediscovered a volume of e e cummings that I probably should not own—it makes me think of you, particularly this one:_

> _lady, i will touch you with my mind._  
>  _touch you and touch and touch_  
>  _until you give_  
>  _me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene_

> _(lady i will_  
>  _touch you with my mind.) Touch_  
>  _you,that is all,_

> _lightly and you utterly will become_  
>  _with infinite care_

> _the poem which i do not write._

> _Consider this me touching you with my mind. Can you feel me, my love? Can you feel my fingers on your neck, on your breasts, stroking down to the wet, hot center of you? I dream of the scent of you, of your laugh and the small noises you make as your pleasure peaks. Do you know the noise I mean? It’s half laugh, half gasp, and just the hint of it is enough to make me catch my breath._

> _Will you touch me with your mind, Phryne? I dream of your hands on my body, of your lips against mine, but I miss your heart and your mind as much as I miss your body against, over, and around mine._

> _I wish you joy in your explorations, and I hope that the world is offering you everything you hoped for. Until you make your way homeward, I hope you feel the touches of my mind. I will imagine the touches of yours each night as I go to sleep without you in my arms, waiting for the moment when I can hold you again._

> _Yours,_  
>  _Jack_

Phryne’s skin hummed with arousal, and—just as she had every time she’d read this letter—she slid a hand down her body as she took the words in. She could never help herself—her hands would wander to the parts of her body that craved him, breasts, hips, pussy. Now, her hand squeezed her breast through the satin pajama top, enjoying the hard thrust of her nipple against her palm, between her fingers. Before long, she had tucked her hand beneath the top to feel her own warm flesh; her legs shifted restlessly against the sheets as her arousal grew with each of his provocative words. 

Teeth biting softly at her bottom lip, Phryne pushed a hand down her belly to dive beneath the waistband of the pajama trousers and cup her sex, her fingers delving into the wet heat in search of her pleasure center. She sighed as she found a rhythm, her eyes scanning the letter as she imagined his fingers, his tongue, his cock pressing into her body. Her breathing quickened and her back arched as the tension built. She heard the letter in her mind as if he read it in his deep baritone, each word a caress against skin sensitized by the thought of his touch.

When a knock sounded at the hotel room door, Phryne froze, fingers deep inside herself. She cursed aloud at the interruption, the word emerging on a sob of frustration, the letter crumpling slightly in her hand. Turning her face in the pillow, she tried to get control of her breathing. She could ignore it, but what if it was important? Maybe they could do whatever business it was from here. Rolling to her back, she continued to stroke herself, fingers twirling gently around her clit.

"What is it?" She called the words at a sufficient volume that the dratted interloper would certainly hear, and she didn't bother to make her tone welcoming.

"Delivery," came the response, muffled through the door, but definitely male.

"Just leave it," she retorted, not really caring what it was, though she hadn't placed any orders with the concierge.

“Can’t, miss, sorry.” 

The speaker didn’t sound particularly sorry, she noted, and she fell back against her pillows, her body aching on the edge of release. Closing her eyes, she gathered herself. _He’d best not be anticipating a large tip_.

“Just a minute,” she said, knowing that her tone was cross. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. It wasn’t the delivery person’s fault that she had been so close to coming. Besides, the anticipation would make the eventual orgasm all the sweeter. Jack had taught her that.

Tucking the letter under the pillow again, she sat up and reached for her robe. Rising, she caught the ends of her pajama sleeves with her fingers as she slid her arms into the black satin, the long trouser legs brushing against the tops of her bare feet. As she moved toward the door, she lifted the hand she’d used to touch herself to her nose, breathing in the scent of her arousal; the needy flesh between her legs pulsed, reminding her that she’d left that job unfinished. Shaking her head, she stopped to get some tip money from her purse. It really wasn’t the man’s fault he’d interrupted, but her jerky motions were irritable as she tied the belt of the robe snugly around her waist and opened the door. 

“What on earth—” The annoyance drained out of her body, leaving her limp, as she took in the man standing on the other side of the door. He held his brown fedora in one hand, and his hair was damp from the rain that also speckled the shoulders of his long overcoat; she caught a glimpse of its red lining—a hidden treasure beneath his drab exterior—framing long legs clad in blue wool. The tie he wore was her favorite, an abstract pattern of bright red and deep blues that seemed to her to embody both his habitual understatement and his flashes of unexpected humor.

“Jack?” The word escaped her on a breath, a hesitant, disbelieving sound. 

“Hello, love.” He smiled, and his deep voice stroked across her skin, making her imaginings feel like a pale echo of the reality. “Surprise?”

“Jack!” She said his name again, this time imbuing it with all of the joy his presence called from her. With a laugh, she jumped, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, pressing her lips to his, the coins she’d palmed for the tip clattering to the entryway floor.

Laughing into her kiss, he stepped blindly into her room, one strong arm holding her close and the other reaching out to shut the door behind him. Pausing, he leaned back against the closed door, hand scrabbling for the lock, his mouth greedy and hot against hers. Phryne pulled him closer, one hand sliding up to cup the back of his head, the fine short hairs there soft against her palm. She tightened her thighs at his waist, feeling his cock rising to press against the wet, hot center of her. Long moments later, she raised her head, pleased to see the dazed look in his eyes and the swollen redness of his mouth.

“I don’t know how you got here, Jack Robinson, but I’m very glad you did.” Her hands stroked his hair as she spoke, and the hands cupping her ass squeezed lightly as his smile dawned. 

“I caught the train this morning, when your telegram came through,” he replied, his voice rough and his eyes seeking hers. “I couldn’t wait to see you again.” 

“I was gutted when I had to delay today,” she whispered, kissing him again, but lightly this time. “I’ve been lying here, reading your last letter and wishing for you.” Leaving one hand on his shoulder, Phryne leaned back a bit to untie her robe; she balanced against him, loving the pressure of his cock between her legs as she shrugged the fabric off her shoulders. The robe fell to the floor in a whisper of sound, and Jack’s eyes stroked down her torso.

His smile became a grin. “So that’s where my pajamas got to,” he murmured, lifting one hand to tug at her lapel before flattening his fingers and sliding them down to cover her breast. “They suit you.”

“You suit me,” she whispered. “I need you.”

The flare of desire and love and purpose in his eyes was enough to make her catch her breath. Without a word, he glanced behind her and pushed off from the door, long strides carrying them quickly to her bed, where the covers lay crumpled as she’d left them. He leaned forward to set her hips on the bed, then straightened; Phryne did not loose the hold she had on his hips—instead, she hooked her feet together behind him, keeping him close. With quick motions, Jack began to strip off, tossing his overcoat, jacket, and waistcoat onto a chair that sat to one side of the bedroom door. When he’d unbuttoned his sleeves, he set his hands on her satin-covered thighs, stroking downward until his thumbs met, resting gently over the damp cloth that covered her sex.

“Top. Off.” He said, his thumbs beginning to move against her. 

Phryne gasped as her arousal came roaring back to life, its banked fire shooting through her limbs and clenching her sex.

“You too,” Phryne demanded, though she loved the way his braces emphasized his broad shoulders and the clean white of his shirt contrasted with his skin. 

Tilting his head at her, he reached to begin unbuttoning his shirt and she did the same, matching him button for button until a narrow strip of pale flesh could be seen from her neckline to her waist. Jack licked his lips as he shrugged his braces off his shoulders and removed his shirt; the movement of his muscles—arms, chest, and belly—as he stripped off his undershirt made Phryne’s mouth go dry. When his chest was bared, he leaned forward, large hands slipping under the plackets of the pajama top at her waist and smoothing it open.

His hands were warm and so welcome against her skin; when he moved them up to cover her breasts, pressing his pelvis into hers, the orgasm she’d denied when she opened the door shot through her. Crying out, she covered his hands with hers, sliding her palms up to grasp his forearms as he played with her nipples. With a growl, he leaned forward to press his mouth to the inside curve of one breast, his breath tracing her sensitive flesh.

“I always think, when you’re away, that you cannot possibly be as beautiful as I remember.” The words were little more than a murmur, hot air against her skin, and as he spoke, she felt first the movements of his lips and then the wet heat of his tongue swirling around the hard nipple. “And then I see you again, and I’m shocked that you are even more than I remembered.” He closed his mouth over her nipple, suckling strongly, and his hand, freed, moved down to tug her thigh higher against his waist. He pushed his hips against hers, the layers of material between them not enough to dull the impact of his hard flesh against the softness of her.

Phryne cried out, her hands moving to his shoulders as he lavished attention on her breasts, her hips pulsing against his. Jack scraped his teeth lightly against her nipple, then in a line across her chest before opening his mouth wide over her other breast. His tongue slid against the bottom curve of the small mound; he moaned lightly as he closed his mouth until his lips encircled her nipple, sucking lightly.

“I always think I remember that mouth of yours while I’m away,” Phryne gasped—he was moving down now, his hands tugging at her ankles as he licked his way down her belly—“but my imagination doesn’t do you justice.” She lifted her head to watch as he nuzzled his nose against the damp satin between her thighs, then raised his eyes to hers as he laid the flat of his tongue against the material; biting her lip, she slid her hands into his hair and nudged his lips with her hips.

The smile Jack sent her as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her pajama trousers was wicked, and Phryne laughed breathlessly as she lifted her hips to help him pull them off. He tossed the fabric over his shoulder and dived back in, his tongue burrowing between her folds to thrust hard into her body. Phryne arched, a groan of pleasure escaping her, and he brought his hands into play—one arm looped around her thigh, his palm flat against her mons, his thumb dipping down to flick at her clit; his other hand sliding up from below, cupping her ass and holding her open for him as he fucked her with his tongue.

One hand in his hair, the other sliding up to cup her breast, Phryne reveled in the magic this man could make with his mouth. He had told her that he enjoyed this act—he’d said it was the part of sex that he’d missed in his long drought after the demise of his marriage; he could tug himself off, he said, and though that was better with a companion too, there was no solo substitute for the taste and feel of a woman’s sex beneath his tongue. She had been happy—perhaps selfishly so—to let him indulge; she’d had lovers before who’d tried this, some of them more successfully than others, but none who had loved it the way he did.

When her second orgasm hit, it was with the power of a freight train, a shock of pleasure that pulled a scream from her lungs and forced her thighs tight against his ears. Her hand on her breast spasmed and her whole body shook, the release triggering a contraction in all of her muscles at once. Jack groaned into her sex, fingers and tongue both within her body as she came apart around him.

When she was able to open her eyes again, it was to see Jack, nude now, rolling a condom along the hard length of his cock. His eyes were fierce and his hands shook slightly, but he managed; leaning forward, he set his hands under her bottom and shoved her backward to make room for himself between her legs. Phryne lifted one limp hand, reaching out to him—the dark satin of the pajama top she still wore falling back to reveal the pale length of her arm—and he took it, sliding his fingers between hers and pressing their palms together as he crawled up and over her, his mouth coming down to cover hers. Their combined tastes hit her tongue like lightning, his own spice and sweetness and the tang of her body’s juices a perfect melding.

Without breaking the kiss, Phryne slid her other hand down to wrap around his cock—he groaned into her mouth as she squeezed lightly and pumped him twice before setting his head at her entrance and encouraging him to press inside. The stretch of her body around his drew Phryne’s focus, and their kiss became mouths open against each other as they both took in the sensation of joining. He pushed inside until his cock was fully seated, the round weight of his balls pressing against the skin of her ass. 

“Phryne,” her name was a breath of sound and she swallowed it, along with his “love you so much”; reaching around to press her hand to the small of his back, her fingers curving to touch their tips to the dip of his spine, she smiled.

“My Jack,” she whispered, and kissed him, her tongue sliding against his. When he lifted his head, his chest heaving with the effort of holding himself still, she pressed her lips to the line of his jaw, her mouth near his ear. “Fuck me.”

Jack obeyed. One hand still twined with hers, he set the other beside her shoulder and pushed up to kneel, his cock still tightly held within her. Phryne bent her own knees to set her feet flat on the mattress, and she brought the hand on his back up to lie gently over his heart. Her eyes met his, and she smiled, aware that all of her tender feelings for this man would be obvious in her expression.

With a soft curse, Jack began to move, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed until he was hammering into her, the self-denial of the months they’d been apart overcoming them both. Phryne’s hand on his chest curled, her nails biting into his pectoral muscle, and the hand that was twined with his squeezed hard; she arched her neck, pushing against him with his every thrust, her mouth opening in a silent cry. Through half-closed eyes, she watched him as he fucked her, his curly hair flying over his forehead and sweat beading on his chest, all of his determination and drive focused on bringing them both release. 

He adjusted his stance after a little while, releasing her hand and straightening to slide both of his hands under her thighs; he lifted his hips with each thrust, fucking into her strongly as his jaw clenched and his chest heaved. Jack was so beautiful like this, his cheekbones in stark relief and his eyebrows drawn together over his nose. Phryne could see the small indentations her fingernails had left in his skin, and the idea of marking him sent a shaft of pleasure through her. 

Phryne lifted her hands to her breasts, pinching hard at her nipples, and Jack’s eyes followed the motion. His rhythm sped up, the room filling with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, their soft moans of pleasure, and the rising scent of desire. With a shout, Jack bucked into her, his hips stuttering and his fingers clenching around her thighs as he came. Panting, he leaned over her, his head coming to rest between her breasts, and Phryne slid her hands into his hair, one stroking down his neck to hold him close. The curve of his back as he bowed over her, the arches of his buttocks, the glimpse she could see of his heels, all gave the impression of reverence, and Phryne tried to give that feeling back to him with soft touches and murmured words of pleasure and love.

When Jack lifted his head and moved to kiss her, his eyes were tender; he gently disengaged from her, looking around for the bathroom so that he could dispose of the condom.

“Through there, Jack,” she murmured, waving toward the closed door, and he flashed a smile her way as he moved.

“Don’t go away,” he said, his voice warm.

“Hurry back,” she replied, sitting up to shrug out of the pajama top and tossing it to meet its other half across the room. Jack’s eyes flashed as he looked at her. 

“Do you have your device?”

“So soon, Jack?” Phryne laughed lightly, but nodded. 

“I’ve been saving it up,” he retorted, his smile easy.

“You take care of that, I’ll take care of this.” 

With a nod, he walked away; Phryne took a moment to admire the motion of his body, all smooth skin over muscle, his ass flexing with each step, the hollows in his cheeks tempting her to explore them with her mouth. Perhaps he had a point—she’d been saving it up, too. Now that he was here, it would be a wonderful thing to break their fast together. She rose to rummage in her carpet bag for the small clamshell case that held her pessary and a thought struck her.

“When do you need to be back in Melbourne?” She raised her voice slightly to reach him in the other room, though he’d left the door open.

“Not till the day after tomorrow,” he called back. 

She lifted one leg to the edge of the chair where his clothing lay and reached to insert the device, feeling the slight twinge in well-used muscles and the sensitivity of her passage that followed good sex.

“So if you wanted to stay one more day in Sydney,” he said, and she looked up to see him watching, his shoulder propped against the doorway of the bathroom, “just to be sure that the weather has passed…”

“It’s always best to be cautious about such things,” she agreed. 

Her eyes on him, she slid her fingers out of her body and lowered her foot to the floor, then walked to join him. When she stopped, just before she touched him, he wrapped his hand around her wrist and lifted the hand she’d used to insert her device to his mouth. Phryne moaned softly as he took each finger between his lips, stroking it with his tongue as he held her eyes. Finished, he pressed her hand to his heart, twining his fingers with hers.

“Can I interest you in a hot bath, Miss Fisher?”

“An excellent idea, Jack,” she said, giving in and leaning into him. 

He took her weight easily, his other hand coming to rest at her waist, long fingers stroking the flesh of her bottom. She lifted her face to his kiss and he obliged her—sweetly this time, but with no less desire than before. A hum of pleasure escaped her as he lifted his mouth from hers.

“I’ll just grab my bag—”

“You had a bag?” Phryne thought back to when she’d opened the door to him. Had he been carrying a bag?

“I left it outside the door,” he laughed, “when I was so warmly welcomed.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Mind if I borrow your robe for a moment?”

“Definitely not, Jack,” she said, her smile sly. 

He released her with a mock-admonitory glance and moved past her, crouching to pick up her black silk robe and shrugging into it, tying its belt snugly around his narrow waist. His broad shoulders did wonderful things for the embroidery on the back, though the robe only came to just below his knees. She watched him move into the entryway and tug open the door a sliver to glance out into the hall. Apparently satisfied he wouldn’t be seen, he bent to pick up his worn leather traveling case and brought it inside, closing the door behind him and flipping the lock.

“I might have to get you your own Oriental silk dressing gown, Jack,” she murmured as he moved toward her. “I find myself filled with all sorts of decadent ideas, seeing you in that.”

“Whereas I am enjoying the view of you out of it,” he said, setting the bag aside and moving close to slide his arms around her. 

Phryne stroked up the lapels of the robe to link her hands behind his neck and rose up on her toes to kiss him yet again. She could not get enough of his mouth.

“Shall we have that bath?” The words were hoarse against her lips, and she could feel his cock rising against her bare belly, the silk that separated their skin a warm and sensual barrier.

“Of course,” she replied, pulling back, her teeth nipping at his lower lip. 

His eyes fluttered closed at the sensation—one she knew was a weakness. “Not fair, Miss Fisher,” he ground out. 

“Feel free to stop me,” she said, her tone sweet as she licked his upper lip, tracing his philtrum with her tongue. Her hand in his hair pulled lightly, and she pressed her pelvis to his.

With a curse, he lifted her bodily and turned to the bed. “Bath later, then,” he said, tossing her onto the mattress. “I’m not through with you.”

As he climbed up and over her, his eyes laughing and the silk tie of the robe slipping open to let his skin slide against hers, velvety soft, Phryne slid her arms around his waist and kissed him, the music of the storm underpinning the music of their bodies. She wasn’t through with him, either, and at this rate, she might never be. She couldn’t find it in herself to regret that.


End file.
